


dream of some epiphany

by storiesmadeofstars



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: AU: Cassian and Leia are both the same age in ANH, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cassian Andor-centric, F/M, Introspection, POV Cassian Andor, Pining, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, reduced age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesmadeofstars/pseuds/storiesmadeofstars
Summary: In war, there's never enough time for so many things. No time to sleep, to make a home-cooked meal, or, most bittersweet of all, no time at all to tell the one you love how much they mean to you.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Leia Organa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	dream of some epiphany

The silence of space shatters in an instant, as the fleet of Imperial ships finds the lone Rebel transporter. Cassian watches them appear, each one a new threat, each one multiplying the dangers around him. There’s too many to fire back at. He’s going to have to run, and pray to everything he no longer trusts, that he’ll survive.

There’s no time for any other plan, no time to hope for a rescue from someone else.

The TIE-Fighter’s blasters shake the ship, and one indirect impact hits the side, knocking the whole U-Wing into a tailspin. Cassian bites back a curse, even as every monitor on his dash begins to beep. It’s loud. It’s loud and frantic and dangerous, as war always is. But Cassian stays calm long enough to finish typing out the coordinates. Then, with one final whisper to the Force that he’s still not sure he believes in, he pushes the ailing ship into the jump for hyperspace.

He wishes, uselessly, that he’d had time to double check the coordinates. He wishes he could have sent one last message back to base. But he couldn’t, and now, the chance is over.

There’s never enough time, not in this war, nor in this lifetime.

Once the stars streak past him, as white as snow and burning like fire, he lets out a breath of relief. He’s safe now, for a little while. Safe enough to let the tension slide from his posture. There's not enough time to sleep, but then again, there never is. Sleep has become little more than a passing daydream to him. Cassian lives, and fights, and hopes, all while his body begs for a long, long rest. He can't provide such a thing. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

Nor can he make any food approaching something that his heart longs for. Though he is cold and tired and aching, there's no time to cook. There's not even a kitchen unit in the ship, just a box of ration bars, a forever dwindling supply. Cassian grabs one, tearing into it with only half-hearted conviction, wishing it had any flavor at all to the substance. Then, he turns on a small recorded holo, a message sent for him over a year ago, and treasured every day of his life since then.

The small flickering form of a princess all in white appears, though the white colors are tinged with blue, like snowbanks after dusk.

“Cassian,” Leia’s voice says, in that gentle whisper that has always stolen his breath. She takes his name and turns it into something beautiful, something as sparkling as freshly-fallen snow, and not the label he sometimes forgets to use when his missions end. He has been so many names, and none of them, save that one, are true. “It’s going to be alright.”

If Cassian closes his eyes, he can pretend she’s here. But if he does, he’ll lose the chance to see her, or at least, the best approximation of her their flickering holo connection can record. She’s made of nothing more than soft blue lights, as translucent as ice, and ethereal as clouds. So, he doesn’t close his eyes. Not now. Not when they have so little time.

“If you say so,” he replies, a weary bitterness creeping into his voice. Cassian speaks to her, here, in the silence of hyperspace, as if she’s there in front of him. As if all their waiting is over, and they are together.

“Trust me. Trust us,” Leia’s holo figure turns, enough that the hood of her white dress falls to her shoulder, for only a moment.

“I do,” he whispers, and means it with every bit of his tired, aching heart.

“We will see each other again.” She tries to smile, and almost succeeds. “I have to go. I love you.”

The holo ends with the echoing noise of blaster-fire.

“I love you too,” he says, too late, as always.

They’ve never had enough time. Not enough time in the quiet marble halls of Alderaan. Not in the bustling corridors of the Massassi temple deep in the jungles of Yavin IV. And certainly never on any mission they undertook together, because those were always matters of life and death.

Any moment they’d had, any kiss they’d shared, had been a stolen second,a tiny grace taken away from the time between the drop from hyperspace and the first laser cannon fired.

He takes a deep breath, staring once more into hyperspace, wishing for impossible things, like sleep, and peace, and the touch of her hand. His hand trembles as he reaches out, and presses a small button on the ship’s control.

“Cassian,” Leia’s voice says again as the recording begins once more.

This time, he closes his eyes to listen, as he has every night for a year. For just a few minutes, he dreams, and in his dreams, they have all the time in the world.

***

_Two years prior_

“It’s like we have all the time in the world!” Leia says, half-shouting in her joy as she wraps her arms tighter around Cassian. “I can’t believe you have two weeks of leave!”

Cassian’s smile turns sad, though Leia, pressed against his chest, cannot see it. He strokes her long braided hair with one hand. The Rebellion doesn’t actually grant leave. Not to people like him. But two weeks of spy work while stationed on Alderaan is as close to leave as he’ll have for a long time. Perhaps for his entire lifetime.

“And what shall we do with that time, princesa?” his voice is little more than a whisper, even though they’re alone in the Alderaanian courtyard. He’s too used to keeping things secret, too familiar with the shadows to feel comfortable in the sunlight.

“I think we did discuss a ski trip,” she replies. “You claimed that you’d be far better than me.”

A soft laugh escapes him. “Did I?” The idea becomes a pleasant daydream, as he imagines leaving work behind and escaping with his betrothed to the mountains for a week. They’d spend the days enjoying the breathtaking views and peaceful chill of the landscape, and the evenings curled up with fragrant bowls of birria, the stew having simmered all day. Those small pleasures seem as impossible as the idea of both of them spouting wings, so Cassian tucks the thoughts away. He’ll revisit them the next time he’s alone in hyperspace, headed out to risk his life for the Rebellion once more.

“You did,” Leia insists. “And Papá agreed. He said the winter lodge is safe, and we could…”

“I have to stay here,” Cassian cuts her off, as gently as he can. He hates the words, even as he says them. To speak them is to kills the simple dream, and taste only the bitterness of reality. He's a spy in the Rebellion. He's needed for far more important things than a ski trip with his love. He's needed for all he can do, not all that he wants. Clearing his throat, as if to remove the threat of tears, he adds, “In the capital.”

Leia steps back to look up at him. Her eyes are still bright, but they have faded into that calculating intensity he’s more used to seeing in mission briefings. “You’re not really here on leave, are you?”

He shakes his head. “But I have a little time, each day for you.” An hour, perhaps. Stolen from the time he should be sleeping. But an hour is more of a luxury than anything he’d been able to offer her before.

“Just a little time?” Leia looks away, somehow suddenly appearing more delicate than ever. He knows it’s an illusion, knows that she’s a trained fighter, and yet, right now, she seems more fragile than a single snowflake.

“It is as much as I can give,” he replies. “But you know that…” He swallows, hard.

“I know what?” her hands go to her hips. “That you’ve offered to marry me, even gotten the approval of my family, and then, last year, disappeared for seven standard months? That you’re impossible to reach, unless you want to be reached? That I’ve grown so used to missing you that I’m not sure what to do when you’re here?”

Every word she says is true, and yet, it holds so little of the full truth, because there’s so much he couldn’t tell her. Falling in love with the princess had been easy, in some ways. The two were the same age, both in their mid-twenties, and allowed the freedom to get to know each other. But that freedom, though it had seemed so wonderful to Leia, had been a ruse for Cassian. He had only been stationed on Alderaan to seek out a mole, someone who’d been selling secrets to the Empire. He’d only been supposed to stay for a few months, not the year they’d had together.

He certainly wasn’t supposed to have proposed, but the words had escaped him, the way a door cannot shut fast enough in a blizzard to keep out the chill. Cassian loved Leia then, and loves her more now. How could he not have given in to the foolish daydream that someday, the war would be over and he’d be able to settle down, here, with his love?

How could he not have hope, when hope was the only thing that kept him going most days?

“Cassian?” Leia says his name, the sound as soft as snow clouds at dawn.

“I’m here,” he replies. For a little while. For all the time they had together. Gently, he reaches forward, to cup her face with his hands. “I’m right here, Leia.”

“You do care about me, don’t you?””

Cassian hesitates, his thumb still brushing over Leia’s jaw. He wants to tell her a hundred things. That she is his reason for waking and his last thought before sleeping. That she is the sunlight in the storm and the warmth in the snowdrift. But all of those things feel like too much, and at the same time, not enough.

There’s never enough words for them to express how they say.

The moment stretches out, crawling toward infinity. Leia stands before him, so delicate and so strong. Instead of saying all of that, he rests his forehead against hers, and whispers, “yes.”

He cares about her. He cares about her enough to keep hoping, keep waiting, for a better time for them both. Cassian cares, and he thinks it just might break his heart.

Leia smiles at him. “Let’s make the best of the time we have together, no matter how little.”

Cassian nods. Yes. They have so little time, why squander it? He knows this moment is fleeting, as quick to melt as snow in one’s hand, and just as delicate. Soon, he will be headed to Eadu, and won’t be able to contact Leia again, perhaps ever.

And that fact, cold and harsh and true, is enough to hold her closer, and close his eyes tighter, wishing they had more time.

***

_The Present Time_

When he lands on Hoth, he expects the cold, the danger, the half-finished fort. He’s been in plenty of bases now, and knows what to brace himself for, and what not to hope for. The Rebellion runs on hope, but hope doesn’t keep the supply changes working.

He doesn’t expect to see her.

And yet, she is there, in front of him. She’s dressed in white, like the snow swirling around her, and the stars far above them. Her hair is braided, the only sort of crown fitting a princess at war, and her eyes are so bright they could shame even Fest’s brilliant moons. She’s here. Waiting for him. Waiting for their chance, as they’ve waited for so long. Waiting.

Cassian is so tired of waiting.

Part of him worries this is no more than a dream, that he’ll reach her and she’ll fade away like starlight between his fingers. The rest of him fears that this moment, like so many others, will be cut short by a comm message or a siren or a TIE blaster overhead.

And then, Leia smiles, and all of those worries melt.

He’s not sure how he arrived in front of her; if he walked or ran or even flew. He’s not sure what to say, either, as he looks down into warm brown eyes that he hasn’t seen in over a year.

But she reaches for him, her fingers sliding through his hair, pushing his jacket’s hood down, so he can’t hide within it, and says all he needs to hear. “I’ve waited for you, Cassian.”

“I…” he blinks, wishing he could blame the biting wind for the tears in his eyes. “I’m here.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle. “I know.”

“And I…” he tries to choose his words, but all the things he wishes to say number as many as all the snowflakes on this planet. I miss you. I need you. Please, don’t leave. Stay here. Stay with me.

Leia goes up, on to her tiptoes, and kisses him, just once, as fleeting as a falling star. “I know,” she says again, as if she’s heard all that he hasn’t said.

Cassian takes a deep breath, then, another. Each one reminds him that this new reality, here, on Hoth, with Leia in his arms, is the real one. The snow whirls around them, but he’s never been warmer. She knows everything he’s been unable to say, and he knows she loves him, no matter how much time has passed.

When they kiss, it’s the connection of two souls meeting, as much as it’s two bodies melting closer together.

When they step back, it’s with clear eyes and hopeful hearts, ready to face whatever will blow toward them with the storm.

“Come on,” Leia’s gloved hand slips into his, squeezing tight, as if they were still starry-eyed youths with no fear of the future. “Come inside. I’ve made birria, just like you like.”

“I usually like it most when it’s edible,” he mutters, teasing her as if they have all the time in all the worlds. Perhaps, now, they do. And if they don’t, Cassian thinks, perhaps it’s okay, just this once, to pretend that they do.

She pokes his side. It makes him laugh, though the sound is nearly half-rusted, as if she’s started to forget how to. But he laughs and she giggles, and slowly, the ice around his emotions thaws. Then, Leia says, “I’ll have you know Kes Dameron helped.”

“Then I suppose there’s a chance it’s edible.”

“More than a chance,” Leia insists. “Shara said it tasted almost as good as her own.”

“Had she anything to drink before she said that?” Cassian teases, amazed at how easily that comes to him now.

Leia, in one smooth motion, bends, scoops up a handful of snow, and dumps it down his jacket. Then, before he can catch her, she races inside. Cassian catches up, just as she turns down a hall, into a small, quiet room. There’s a cot in one corner, and a small woven blanket, and a painting of sunrise on Alderaan. The spicy warm scent of a well-cooked birria wafts toward him, and the air is sweet with Leia’s perfume.

She pours him a bowl, making an apology that there’s only one, though she does have two spoons, and settles next to him on the little cot. Cassian kisses her cheek as a small, simple thanks for something so vast he can’t begin to name it.

Cassian smiles at her, and sips the stew, which has proven to be quite good indeed. It’s such a small meal, in such a meager room, and yet, it feels more grand than any time they’d spent together in the palace. He reaches out, with his free hand, and holds Leia’s own, as if he could hold them both here in this place, forever. The stew tastes like home, like meals with a long-lost family around a table that's little more than ash. It tastes like hope, like a warm mug given to a young rebel, accompanied by a promise that this battle won't last more than a few years. It tastes like a thousand bittersweet moments in the past, and warms him like a hundred dreams of the future.

It’s no dream, though it feels better than any one he’s had before. It’s real and it’s here, and he can’t imagine being anywhere else.

“Will you stay?” Leia asks. “At least for a little while?”

“I will,” he promises, and for once, it’s a promise he can keep.

For a moment, as the snow whirls outside and the heating unit crackles as it warms the tiny room, they have enough time.


End file.
